Quotes by Laini Taylor

Be a Samurai.Because you just never know whats behind the freaking sky.

My tiny scary friend is coming

I love bookshelves, and stacks of books, spines, typography, and the feel of pages between my fingertips. I love bookmarks, and old bindings, and stars in margins next to beautiful passages. I love exuberant underlinings that recall to me a swoon of language-love from a long-ago reading, something I hoped to remember. I love book plates, and inscriptions in gifts from loved ones, I love author signatures, and I love books sitting around reminding me of them, being present in my life, being. I love books. Not just for what they contain. I love them as objects too, as ever-present reminders of what they contain, and because they are beautiful. They are one of my favorite things in life, really at the tiptop of the list, easily my favorite inanimate things in existence, and ... I am just not cottoning on to this idea of making them ... not exist anymore. Making them cease to take up space in the world, in my life? No, please do not take away the physical reality of my books.

Dont look at me like that, said Ruza.Like what?Like Im a beautiful book youre about to open and plunder with your greedy mad eyes.

...but one cant be irredeemable who shows reverence for books.

As for fairy tales, he understood that they were reflections of the people who had spun them, and were flecked with little truths - intrusions of reality into fantasy, like toast crumbs on a wizards beard.

On the occasions that he did look up from the page, he would seem as though he were awakening from a dream.

He wasnt an alchemist, or a hero. He was a librarian, and a dreamer. He was a reader, and the unsung expert on a long-lost city no one cared a thing about.

It was a different life out here, but make no mistake: Lazlo was every bit the dreamer he had always been, if not more. He might have left his books, but he carried all his stories with him.

Even if it was just walls and a roof with papers inside, it had bewitched him, and drawn him in, and given him everything he needed to become himself.

Why not open the door, and open their arms, and close them again around each other? Did the not understand how, in the strange chemistry of human emotion, his suffering and her, mingled together, could... countervail each other?

Peace is more than the absence of war. Peace is accord. Harmony.

And just so you know, the invaders are always the bad guys. Always.

In moments Akiva was up in the ether, scarcely feeling the sting of ice crystals in the thin air. He let his glamour fall away, and his wings were like sheets of fire sweeping the black of the heavens. He moved at speed, onward toward another human city to find another doorway bitter with the devils magic, and after that another, until all bore the black handprint....Once all the doors were marked, the end would begin. And it would begin with fire.

War does that, nothing for it. Reality lays siege. Your framed portrait of life is smashed, and a new one thrust upon you. Its ugly, and you dont even want to look at it let alone hang it on the wall, but you have no choice, once you know. Once you really know.

Humans had a genius for devising instruments of death. Their lives were so short and they seemed to value them so little, sending waves of men to clash in battlefields, then weighing victory by the piled corpses. And if they held their own lives so worthless, the lives of everything else were as fruit to pluck from trees.

It was impossible, of course. But when did that ever stop any dreamer from dreaming.

If youre afraid of your own dreams, youre welcome here in mine.

I turned my nightmares into fireflies and caught them in a jar.

Dont I deserve to finally be free of you?